Apothecaries' Daughter
by TheRedPenofDoom87
Summary: Rosealee recounts her not so stellar years to Monroe, among other strange, silly and ultimately fluffy one-shots. Companion to "The Pocket Watch" but not a sequel.
1. Veneer

Okay, I never planned for this to be as freaking long as it is. I'd planned to do a one shot with Rosalee talking or remember her past as a addict. This was not necessarily the avenue I planned but ehhh I rather like how it turned out.

Two things:

1. I am not and have not ever been an addict of any kind, this is all my own imagination and I'm certainly not trying to offend or off put anyone, I just thought I'd stretch my writer muscles and try to put myself in Rosalee's shoes. I have had some experience working with vulnerable populations in Portland (yes, I live here) but my experience is not the end all be all of experience.

2. I am not condoning recreational drug use or date rape/abuse in any way shape or form. Again, from my experience working with vulnerable populations these things often go hand in hand.

Dudes, this is all headcanon this point. I keep trying to pin down Rosalee's timeline and can't because the writer's have only given us the bare minimum of back story

Anyway, enjoy!

* * *

_"And they scream/ The worst things in life come free to us/ Cause we're just under the upper hand/ And go mad for a couple grams."- Ed Sheeran, The A Team_

_"Staring at the sink of blood and crushed veneer./ Tell my love to wreck it all/ Cut out all the ropes and let me fall"- Bon Iver, Skinny Love_

* * *

Part 1. Veneer.

Rosalee was not the type to dramatically show up in the middle of the night. Except that was exactly what she was doing currently. But this had been eating at her for days. Juliette had demanded to know the truth, to see it with her own eyes once more and remember. Monroe refused, albeit reluctantly. And Rosalee caught herself echoing her new friend's sentiments (or at least she hoped for this new friend; she wasn't so sure the warm and fuzzies would stick around if Juliette ever found out about Rosalee's fuzzy side), growing angrier and angrier that Juliette had been left in the dark about everything.

She pulled up to the little house, seeing the lights on lifted her spirits a little. She cautiously knocked on the door; all the while praying that he was displeased enough with her that she would not have to tell this story. The pocket watch ticked faithfully against her hip.

But he opened the door all the same. "What's going on? You were strangely monosyllabic in your text." The corner of his mouth quirked upwards.

"Is Nick here?" she wondered as she glanced around. The white monstrosity he called a car (or truck or jeep or whatever) was no where to be seen. And the last thing she wanted was Nick's new freaky hearing to pick up on this.

"Naw, he's on some stakeout with Hank. Said he'd be gone until tomorrow afternoon at the earliest." He opened the door wider. "What's up?"

"I have to tell you something." She stepped inside, pulled off her thick sweater and let him follow her to the living room.

"And you couldn't over the phone?"

She shook her head, sitting on the couch. Drawing her knees up to her chest. "No. I couldn't. "

"Rose..." he reached out but she couldn't let him.

"I was angry with you the other day." she confided.

"I know you just want to help Juliette and-"

She held up a finger. "I was angry because we were keeping her in the dark about everything, about Wesen and Nick being a Grimm and why she went into that coma...when I realized I haven't told you what happened. After you trusted me with your past." She shook her head at herself. "It isn't fair. You deserve to know, considering...everything."

About a month ago, they sat out on the back porch and he told her about days and weeks he marked only with blood and bones, about how he about lost every ounce of control. For a while, he lived solely on instinct. Some of the stories made her cringe and want to shut her eyes against the truth. But she didn't. She waited until he finished and reached over to take his hand. Their fingers interlocked, squeezing tight.

"Sometimes," she intoned barely above a whisper. "We have to bury our pasts so they don't bury us."

"Sometimes." he agreed and kissed the back of hand. He said nothing more about it; neither did she.

"I need you to just listen and not say anything until I'm finished." She said finally, echoing his plea from a month ago. She told the story without flourish and as anonymous as possible. Almost as if those years happened to someone else all together.

There was nothing innocent about the beginning but it hadn't been malicious really. It was something to do. Something to take her mind off her troubles, off her father's death and her mother's crying and all Freddie's responsibility talk. At first it was a few drinks at the Cheerful Tortoise. But only at first. A friend, a girl she knew briefly from high school and college, invited her along to "see just how far the rabbit hole goes" she said. A girl, whose name she couldn't remember, drew aside the red curtains to show her what dreams they might find.

Sitting around in the circle, Rosalee took her turn. She was not like the others; she knew what the drug did, how dangerous it was She was the apothecaries' daughter after all. And as she inhaled that vaporous smoke into her lungs and held it, burning her throat to a raw sweetness; euphoria bloomed in her veins and she forgot. So blissful was that forgetting, that voluntary amnesia, she gave in and took another hit. The night passed with laughter and silly mindless games, the rules to which changed at every moment. They howled at the moon with their reedy Fuchsbau voices and set Forest Park aglow with their bright gold eyes. Soon though, she melted into the dawn reborn.

Rosalee woke that first moment on a semi-naked mattress in a second thought room in a downtown apartment. The two other girls beside her slept on. Her head fuzzy and mouth full of cotton, Rosalee rolled herself out of bed to find her friend, collapsed in a puddle on the run down couch in the living room. Painfully bare and empty, the apartment reeked of college poverty and minimum wage jobs. Portland was where college kids came to retire after all.

"Have fun, girl?" Her friend warbled from her position on the couch.

"Yeah," Rosalee admitted despite the growing head ache and slightly rolling stomach. "Yeah, thanks."

"Just let me know when you wanna go howl at the moon again. Maybe next time I can rustle us up some Blutbad to go run with." The girl, who really looked like a girl, winked as Rose left.

Rosalee only meant for it to be that one time. It didn't stay just once. Friday rolled around and it had been a hard week again. She gave her friend a call. Only once; the addict's benediction. Just this once. Just one more. Just a while longer. Slowly, she felt herself become the patron saint of excuses for her disappearances as trips to the Island became the regular destination for a thousand Friday and Saturday and Sunday nights, for stressful Tuesdays and miserable Mondays. Weekends stretched into weeks and then months. She went out one night in September and when she woke, it was two days before Christmas.

Her mother started to speak through Freddie only. And then Freddie stopped speaking all together and started yelling. Calling her selfish and childish. Why couldn't she see what she was doing to their mother? To him? Didn't she care? No. To be honest, she had stopped caring the moment that blissful negligence erupted in the back of her brain.

There were men, too. High, she smiled easier, flirted shamelessly and kissed men, whose last names she did not know, unabashedly. And they loved her. She was endlessly entertaining to them with her snarky comebacks matched with those innocent brown eyes. She breathed in the smoke like she didn't care if tomorrow came or not. She lived for the moment and no man who was cute enough and laughed enough would be denied. Looking back, she remembered that their faces were always distorted through the smoke, clearing in the morning when they had to learn each others' names in the cold light of day.

One morning after a marathon session at the Island, Rosalee squirmed her way out from under a man's thick suffocating arm. She pulled on a pair of jeans she hadn't washed in a week and a shirt that had seen better days. Tiptoeing around the mattress that sat directly on the floor, She found her way to the bathroom. She splashed her face and looked up at the cracked vanity mirror.

She didn't recognize the woman staring back at her. Her eyes were sunken in, skin gone yellow instead of a warm bronze. Her hair hung in clumps and her hands, that constantly fluttered now, were skeletal. A bruise bubbled up blue and purple on her cheekbone. Matching the ones encircling her wrist, her upper arm. She lifted the hem of the t-shirt just barely an inch, to find matching marks on her thighs. Surprised, they seemed to appear out of no where with only wispy memories that drifted between her ears like smoke. She flinched, remembering the fist coming toward her the steel grip on her arm. The hard and grinding kiss tearing at her bottom lip. She said yes because he could take her to the Island whenever she wanted. She said yes because there wasn't any other answer to give.

And suddenly, she knew then that 'yes' was not a 'yes' at all.

She ran faster than she ever had; only pausing to puke up the poisons she'd inhaled into the gutters. With each step the stitch in her side tightened up as if it were her own personal cilice. More and more clearly she saw the worry etched on her brother's face, adding to his cares. She saw the terror in her mother's eyes that perhaps her daughter would follow her husband into an early grave, into a place she could not follow.

Rosalee found her way to her brother's shop and opened the door. Thankfully he was alone.

"I fucked up," she announced to the shop and her brother. "I fucked everything up."

Freddie didn't laugh or smile. He didn't say. "I told you so." Instead, he walked around the counter and engulfed her in a hug. He said nothing about the bruises or about how thin she'd become. She burst into tears at the contact. He made her tea and helped her to bed, promising her the next few days would be a spectacular sort of hell.

She accepted it as she did her tea, without a grimace. She was the apothecaries' daughter; she took the medicine she was given and swallowed down the bitter taste without a word. True to his word, it was hellish. When she emerged dehydrated and shaky but sober, she slept for three straight days. All the while he applied arnica to her eye, wrists and arms.

"What do you want to do?" He asked when when she was back in her right mind.

"What do you think?" She replied, setting her hands hands on the table.

"You can't stay here, you know." Freddie replied. "It'll make it too easy to go back...Unless you want to."

"No," she breathed. "But where?"

"Seattle? I've got friends there. They said you could stay with them until you figure out your next move."

She nodded. "I need to get away from here. From these people." He bought her a train ticket for the next day. She walked onto that train without looking back.

"And I lived there until everything that happened...with Freddie," she concluded, leaning back against the couch arm. "I just...I just wanted you to know."

At first, Monroe said nothing. For a silly moment, she thought maybe he would refuse her, tell her to go. Panic electrified each thought until she felt her hands start to shake from adrenaline and habit. She hadn't escaped from it completely unscathed. Her hands shook when she was stressed and the shakes were often accompanied by rather nasty migraines that kept her in the dark for hours at a time.

"Sometimes," Monroe reached out and took her hand. "We have to bury our pasts, so they don't bury us."

She didn't ask him to keep it to himself; he would. She didn't ask if it changed what was between them; it didn't. He wouldn't forget but, he wouldn't speak of it unless asked. It was why she knew things were different this time around. "Sometimes." She agreed, pulling him closer to her. He came willingly as he always did, sliding one arm around her shoulders. She buried her face in his neck and breathed out the nervous one she kept locked up from the moment she knocked on his door.

He said her name just once, very softly. Not Rosalee but Rose. She smiled as one hand came up to cup her cheek and drew her in for a kiss. It was not like the others they'd shared. This one was bourn of honesty and trust. And the fact remained, there was nothing left to hide behind now.

"This isn't what I came here for..." She murmured against his lip, all the while drawing him down to her again with a steady hand on his sweater collar. "I just came to tell you."

"And now I know," He replied and leaned in to her pull, hands skimming from her knees, to thighs, to hips. "So...stay?" he posed it was a question. And it was entirely in her power to say no and walk away.

Kissing him without agenda and with abandon, this time she was sure.

* * *

And that's all you get...FOR THIS PART! Don't worry, I have a second half (which probably won't be nearly as long as this one and it will probably be more dialogue)

R&R please!


	2. The Word for Not Lonely

_And here I come with Part 2 as promised. There is a ton more dialogue, which I ended up cutting like 3/4s of because it was unnecessary. I also am trying to adhere to the rule that 90% of all human communication is nonverbal. _

_Anyway, I wrote all this and then saw the new episode today: HOLY SHIT I ALMOST LOST IT! GAHHHH MY BABIES ARE SO ADORABLE!_

_Disclaimer: I own nothing dudes nor am I making money, I are a poor grad student doing this for the __lols and feels. _

* * *

_"Who will love you?/ Who will fight?/ Who will fall far behind?- Bon Iver, Skinny Love_

_"Now I see clearly / It's you I'm looking for / All of my days/ So I'll smile /I know I'll feel this loneliness no more "- Alexi Murdoch, All My Days_

* * *

Part 2. The Word for Not Lonely

The smell of coffee tempted her into wakefulness. Burying her face farther in the pillow, Rosalee pulled the sheet taut over her shoulder and tried to make herself drift off to sleep again. She evened her breathing and tried to achieve that "soft face" her leggy yoga instructor was constantly telling her to work on. Her internal clock insisted (and all the other clocks on the wall agreed whole heartedly) that it was far too early for coffee consumption. Really, it was too early to be doing anything. Even having this conversation. With herself.

She turned over, wrapping the sheet ever more tightly around her shoulders, even going so far as it pull it up to her ears. And then she realized she was alone. Her brain fuzzy with sleep and the sudden awakening and the siren call of coffee, she recalled the previous six hours or so. But most importantly, she remembered she hadn't gone to sleep alone. Remembering a large warm arm around her waist, she wondered where he'd gone.

Rosalee opened her eyes to find herself alone in a rather large bed, in someone else's long sleeve white undershirt and not in her tiny studio apartment. She sat up to the elusive Portland sunshine pouring through the cracks in the shade, making her hiss like a creature of the night. And now there was no going back to sleep. Damnit. Sighing, Rosalee ran her fingers through her hair, clumped by sleep and...other activities.

It wasn't because she was overly tired, she actually slept better last night than she had in a long while. Normally, she didn't sleep so well in someone else's bed, even in hotel rooms or at her brother's before she sold it. Unlike those women who left a pair or earrings or a necklace on the night stand or bathroom sink "on accident" hoping and praying for a phone call back, Rosalee always found a quiet moment afterward to disentangle herself from his arms; sometimes grasping and confining but often only barely there, and vanish. It became the norm. Maybe it wasn't that she didn't sleep so well...maybe it was because she was never really sure if she'd wake up in the same condition she'd gone to sleep in.

And it wasn't simply because he asked, though earnestly and without guile, but because she wanted to. And why shouldn't she? She found that she'd forgotten that she enjoyed being held and hugged and kissed and whispered to. Being wrapped up in this nearly forgotten feeling, just like being wrapped up in one his shirts. As she lay there in the dark, in his bed, the only thing she was in danger of was snoring.

"I don't want this to be a one time thing." He confided to her, one arm wrapped around her.

She shook her head. "Neither do I. So, what do I call you then?" Rosalee murmured. She was curled up next to him, her head propped in her hand.

"I, personally, would prefer my name," he chuckled. "But you know I'll answer to just about anything."

She rolled her eyes. "You know what I mean."

"How about," He leaned over to kiss her. "you call me 'Monroe' and I'll call you 'Rose' and that'll be that?"

"Boyfriend? Partner?" She went on, ignoring him. "I could call you 'Wolf Man'." She giggled. "That would be really fun."

He gave her the same look he often gave Nick when the Lassie jokes started after a few glasses of wine. "Only if I get to call you 'Foxy'."

She laughed. "Alright. I can live with that," She thought a minute before she went on, all the laughter gone from her voice. "As long as I don't have to share you with anyone."

"No." He promised. "You don't. I'm all yours. Have been for a long time."

"How long?"

He thought a moment and smiled again. "Well, clocking that dude with a brick was a good start."

"That's all it takes with you? Wow, you are easy."

"Don't go spreading it around." He warned her.

"I won't." Rosalee promised. "Not a word." She laid her head against his chest and closed her eyes.

"Rose?"

"Hhhm?" She murmured.

"You aren't going anywhere, are you?" He wondered.

She smiled, keeping her eyes shut. "No, I'm not going anywhere." The house was quiet and the world as calm as she had ever felt it to be. There was a word she couldn't quite recall to describe this moment. She let it go, though, as she fell asleep to the sound his heartbeat under her ear.

Now, following her nose to the kitchen, padding softly on the hard wood floor in her bare feet, his borrowed shirt and praying Nick wouldn't come busting in while she was standing in their kitchen in her underwear, Rosalee found him standing over the percolator with two waiting coffee mugs. She should have known better then to think she'd be able to sneak up on him. He turned, smiling. "_Guten Mogen_. I thought you were asleep."

"I was," She replied, stretching to her full height on her tiptoes to kiss him _Guten Mogen_. "Until the coffee. And now I'm awake. What time is it?"

"Eightish." He poured for her.

"Don't you ever sleep in?" She followed him to the small nook taking a small sip, tasting as good as it smelled.

"That was sleeping in. I usually I'm up at six thirty."

"What've you been doing?"

He held it up. "New York Times crossword. In ink. Wanna help?"

"I don't know if you need my help, Mr.I-went-to-Brown-For-Grad-School." She laughed and perched herself in his lap.

He flicked her knee with the end of his pen when she pulled it out of his fingers. For twelve across, she filled in Apothecary, six down Costello. Seventeen Down Zildjian and "Twenty-seven across. Hiding, Shield." She tapped her lip with the end of the pen. "Veneer."

He took it back and looked it over. "Now who's the smarty-pants? How about this one?

"Twenty down." She read. "Excess. Many."

"Eighteen across. Line of British kings."

They tossed around words like a tennis match, until "plethora" fit. And then "Of course," Monroe filled it in. "Plantagenet." He grinned. "I dabbled in Medieval British History in undergrad and grad school," he admitted as though he'd once shoplifted or loved Pride and Prejudice.

"See," From here, she could loop her arms around his broad shoulders. "You didn't need me."

"I probably wouldn't have gotten as far without you."

Rosalee felt herself blush; he just didn't mean the crossword. But there was a word that she had been unable to recall last night. All she knew it was the opposite of lonely. But it was akin to the word for the contentment achieved by finishing a crossword puzzle.

* * *

_And that's all I got for now. _

_If you were wondering I was listening to Birdy's version of "Skinny Love" when writing this, not that I don't love Bon Iver._

_Anyway, R&R please!_


	3. Love and Pie

_UHhhh I think I have a slight problem...No new Grimm this week meant I wrote another chapter (because my life is going to be crazy next week) which I did not originally plan. _

_And...duh duh duh, I wrote this one in Monroe's POV. It was fun and some the dialogue was good practice. BTW this is all supposed to be fluff, nothing serious at this point. Just some cute things that Monroe thinks about Rosalee. _

_Again, this is entirely head canon, all of it. I reiterate: I am a grad student, I make no money off this and I do it for the lols and __feels._

_in my head canon this is a while after the second chapter (or 2nd installment, whatever you want to call it). And I'm hoping the writers will wrap up this whole Juliette memory thing because I for one am sick of her being stuck in the dark missing all the cute Grimm/Wesen family feels-ness. So, this is assuming that someone tells her and she's trying to accept that and what better way than dinner?_

_anyway, dudes, enjoy!_

* * *

_"And I'm just too tired to fight/So my darling, I'll succumb/ But you'll have to run to me tonight/ Tonight I will love you forever/ But I'll only ever be a middle distance runner"- Sea Wolf, "Middle Distance Runner"_

_"And in the streets we're running/ free like it's only you and me/ Geez, you're somethin' to see./ Ahh, Home/Let me come Home/ Home is wherever I'm with you..." Edward Sharpe and the Magnetic Zeros "Home" _

* * *

Part 3. Love and Pie

Her text read out on his phone: _Be there soon. Bringing TWO bottles of wine. And pie :)__  
_

He smiled and replied:_Plenty of time. No hurry_ and he went back to chopping up the cucumbers and tossing them into the mixing bowl. Everyone else said they'd be there around seven. Though, tonight is a much bigger deal than usual; it's Juliette's first dinner. With everyone.

All things considered, it was funny; he'd always expected the unexpected. But Monroe never saw her coming. To be honest though, he hadn't seen Nick coming either until he was crashing through his own window to tackle him. A slight on his part, he admitted freely now. But Rose wasn't supposed to stay. From the get go, she seemed determined to put this city in her rearview mirror. And at the time, he had assumed that at the end of the day they'd end up being two ships and all that nonsense.

But she stayed, though carefully and cautiously at first. He long since gave up on the why (she gave the trial as a reason, putting the last of her demons to bed, simple old homesickness) and focused on the fact that she was staying and and invented as many reasons as he could to see her. He watched her hands steady but hummingbird fast over her bunsen burner. He saw her so often hunched over a book (thumb pressed to her full lower ruby lip, forehead creased in concentration), that he could draw that face in his sleep. And more times than he could count, he was right there next to her, his nose buried in her books as well.

"Never go to war with a woman who's got claws," his mother told him once, though at the time, he assumed she meant a Blutbad, but it fit Rose all too easily. She was small but far from frail and every so often she had to remind him. He saw her stare down a Hundjäger, all steel backbone and claws at the ready. The only fear she displayed was for him and Nick and Ian, keeping none of it for herself.

She told him everything (except for names) about her lost days but did not ask for pity in return. Rosalee sat in his lap in the kitchen the morning after their first night together and pressed a hand to his cheek. "I'm not sad or mad. It was a part of my life that you should at least know something about. Don't be sad for me." It was all the elaboration she'd give. "Or angry. It's in the past." She was right, of course, as she often was. More often than he'd like to admit. It was the same thing he'd learned to tell himself. She'd forgiven her past sins; if not all, she'd forgiven most of them. And for that at least, she didn't judge him for all he told her.

She railed at him when he came home sporting black eyes and bruises, usually dragging Nick along too, when he was either potion or punch drunk. She'd clean them up, clucking at them and sending them on their way. Though, being her boyfriend meant that Monroe didn't necessarily have to follow Nick home and at least got a kiss or two out of it.

She sat next to him on her little cot in the back room of the shop. "What am I going to do with you?" she murmured often more to herself than him as she dabbed his bruise with arnica. Exasperated but affectionate.

"Hey, I do not go looking for trouble," he assured her. "I get dragged in. Usually by Nick."

She smiled and settled next to him. Really, the cot fit one but she'd never had a problem being so close. He wrapped an arm around her.

"Just be careful, okay?" She murmured. "I don't like patching you guys up. You especially."

"I'll try." He promised. He ran his hand up to the back of her neck.

"You better." She poked him hard in the chest.

"Trust me, I don't like ending up like this." He gestured to himself lying on the cot with his free hand.

She reached up to his temple. "Are you sure you're all right? How many fingers?" She held up two.

"Come on, Rose-"

"Answer please." She waggled her two fingers.

"Two."

She help up six.

"Six."

"What year is it?"

"2013." He pulled her in closer. "Are you satisfied yet?"

She cocked her head to once side for a moment, considering. Without answering she leaned forward into a kiss. But not an ordinary "hello" or "goodbye" kiss. It wasn't even "please be careful" or "You're an idiot and yet somehow I still find you attractive." It was more "I'm afraid the world might end if we stop so let's don't."

However, stop they did when they needed air. _Air,_ he snorted to himself. _Air's over rated_. She played with one button on his shirt collar, eyes dark and glancing at the door. He'd never seen her apartment before.

Pulling himself from memory, Monroe looks up as Rosalee bursts through the front door, a bag, her purse, two bottles of wine and a pie in tow. True to her word. "Am I late?!" She doesn't even pause to hear the answer, tearing to his room. Presumably to change.

"No. Everyone else will be here in half an hour." He hollered back.

"Yes! THANK YOU, BROADWAY BRIDGE!"

He smiles to himself, remembering their first "family dinner" as they had been dubbed. "This was fun," she said as he walked her to her car. "We should do it more often."

"It was," he agreed. "Felt...weird but nice."

"Yeah, Like a family."

"A multi-species family."

She playfully smacked his arm. "What is it they say? Keep Portland weird?"

"All right, all right." He grabbed her hand and squeeze gently. "We have a weird multi-species family with a Blutbad, a Fuchsbau, a Kherseite and a Grimm and...it's nice."

She was quiet a moment, contemplating the keys in her other hand.

He nudged her. "Rose?"

"Sometimes you get the chance to choose your family," she said quietly and he saw how the deaths of her father and brother weighed on her. She had so little of her family left. Then again, so did he, though his was mainly by choice. "And I'm choosing this. Portland and Nick and Hank." She played with the the lapels on his coat. "And you."

Monroe felt his heart lift a little at the sentiment; she was picking him. He didn't always believe this life, one filled with dinners and friends (wesen and otherwise) and good wine, was possible for him. Sure, Blutbaden ran in packs but what he wanted (or at least had recently allowed himself to want) was something entirely different. He could see more with her, a future other than blood on the full moon and chasing random Kherseite through the woods when he got bored. He saw glimpses of it in her kiss, the touch of her hand. A quiet life but a full one. A family even. But that he did keep entirely to himself.

He almost said the thing he'd been thinking for months right then and there. But timing had always been a problem for him.

Rosalee wanders out to kitchen ten minutes later, hair slightly damp and in different clothes, both wine bottles in hand. She stretches up on her tip toes and he has to practically bend in half to kiss her. Even with the shower and stress, she still smells like lemon verbena and vanilla and wool. And... Eisbeber. "I feel like I haven't seen you in a week." She proclaims as she goes hunting for the wine bottle opener.

"It's been three days," he reminds her, pulling open the correct drawer for her. "How was the lodge?"

Rose pours herself some of the red, hits the half way point and goes a little over. "So many sick kids. So much snot." She takes a nice long pull. "I had to take treat all the babies the first day and then go back and get the older kids. I'll probably have to go back next week and do a third round just to be sure to knock it out."

"How many pies did you get out of it?"

"I'm not doing it for the pie, Monroe."

"I know. But still...how many?"

She rubs his shoulder. "I already saved you the blackberry one, I left it in the car so you don't have to fight Hank over it. That one," She points to the one she left on the opposite counter. "is cherry"

"You're the best."

She shrugs. "Juliette still isn't entirely sold on the whole wesen thing so we should probably make sure you don't leap across the table for the last piece of pie."

"How is it that you think of everything?"

"I am the Smarty-Pants after all." She grins and kisses his cheek. "So, what can I do to help?"

She's not allowed to help, though. She tried once and he'd really rather not relive it. He's actually afraid to leave Nick and Rose alone in the kitchen for too long; it might spontaneously combust from the sheer lack of cooking ability concentrated in one area. It doesn't make any sense really, given what she does. But she's completely hopeless.

He shakes his head. "No, no. Rose, I love you but you really can't cook. I'm sorry."

Well. There's that.

She turns to him, setting the glass down "What did you say?"

" 'I'm sorry but you really can't cook'? "

"No, before that."

"I might have...said..." Monroe shrugs. "You know...'I love you'..."

"Do you mean it?" Rose wonders. "I don't mean to put pressure on you or anything but I want to know if you-"

"I wouldn't have said it if I didn't mean it." He replies quietly.

There is a beat of silence and then giggles bubble out. She claps her hand over her mouth. He expected tears, stunned silence, but not this.

"I'm sorry," she grabs his hand. "I'm sorry, Monroe. It's just...I haven't really slept in two days, that was the first shower I've had in memory and I've spent the last..." she pulls the pocket watch out of her sweater pocket and then frowns. He could tell her not to attempt to do math with so little sleep or caffeine in her veins but Monroe knows how to pick his battles. "Something like...twenty eight hours covered in baby Eisbeber snot. And you just burst out telling me you love me. It's just a little...I don't know-"

"Is it contagious?" He wonders, glancing at her hands.

"Is what contagious?" She asks.

"The snot."

"Only if you've got Eisbeber in you anywhere. But it's gone now."

He nods and cups her face in his hands. "I love ya anyhow." Well, now he's said it once, it comes out easier and easier now.

And now she smiles, a big one and lays her hands on his wrists. "I love you."

"And you mean it?"

"I wouldn't say it if it weren't true." She whispers.

There are a thousand things to say and discuss. At least eighty percent of that thousand is not polite for company, as they all come crashing through the door. But Monroe holds one thought with him though dinner, through Rose's hand never leaving his, through her laying her head on his shoulder. The Apothecaries' Daughter who loved the Wieder Blutbad. Sounds like a line out of a fairy tale.

* * *

_R&R please! I may do another actually with Nick and Rosalee-not romantically-but it may involve bacon. Stick around and see._


	4. The B-Word

_And boom next story. this one is actually set before the third one just FYI. Still in the same canon as everything else. There are no spoilers for 2.18 I promise. _

_and yeah, there is a ton of dialogue in this one. I've never written Nick as a character before. Not that I'm not a fan of his, he always just sort of ends up... not around. _

_Disclaimer: I own nothing at all friends. _

* * *

_"I missed you but I haven't met you/ Oh but I want to/ How I do/Slowly counting down the days/ Till I finally know your name..." - The Civil Wars "To Whom it May Concern"_

_"They say there's linings made of silver/ Folded inside each raining cloud/ well we need someone to deliver/ our silver linings now..." Ingrid Michaelson, "Are We There Yet?"_

* * *

Part 4. The B-word.

"I came by the shop today," Monroe tells her, settling next to her on her couch.

She looks up, confused. "When? I didn't see you." She grabs the beer by the neck from him. "

"Noonish."

"I went out for lunch," she counts back on her fingers. "Besides I thought you were stuck at the museum this week."

"I am, I just took a break. Thought I'd stop by and surprise you."

"Aw, that's sweet. Are you going to try to surprise me tomorrow?" She asks.

"Well not it's not going to be much of a surprise, now is it?" Monroe jokes.

"You know how much I hate surprises."

He frowns suddenly. "Did you eat bacon today?"

"Yeah...I had a BLT for lunch." She take another swig from the bottle. "Is it bothering you? I can go change."

He shakes his head as she turns on the movie. Why she let him talk her into tackling all three episodes of Hatfields and McCoys in one sitting, she'll never know. "No, no. I'm fine." He throws one arm over her shoulders, pulling her in close.

It's not that she's keeping deliberately it a secret. And there's nothing to hide, really. It's a just continued lunch...meet up with Nick. And she never mentioned it before. So, wouldn't it be strange to bring it up now?

It started just after he had moved out of Juliette's place. Nick happened to be in the Pearl and stopped by. Asking first for Monroe but found only Rosalee, she'd offered a listening ear, knowing he'd probably brush her off. But he gladly accepted, much to her surprise. But then again it shouldn't have; he was raised by his aunt, a formidable woman from what Monroe told her and what she'd gleaned from the brief encounter with Nick's mother.

He took her to Morning Star. "Nothing fancy but the coffee's good and they cut the bacon thick. " He told her when they sat. They made polite chit-chat about the weather, quality of the coffee, and their plans for the weekend. And then the bacon arrived. Thick sliced on a toasted croissant, topped with lettuce and tomato and dripping with pepper jack.

"Sorry, I miss bacon." He apologizes after the first few bites.

"Yeah," She nodded. "I do too."

"How does that work? Him being a vegan. And you...clearly enjoying that bacon way more than you should."

She shrugged. "You live with him, you know what's it like."

"Uh... I'm not dating him." Nick replied, laughing.

"It's not so bad, I mean, he cooks better than I ever could. Besides, it's not the worst thing for me. To be honest, Monroe will probably outlive the both of us."

He laughed. "Yeah, he probably will."

"But I mean I could eat a burger in front of him. And he'd be fine. But why make it harder on him when it's not going to kill me to go light on the red meat? It's a good trade off." She smiled at him.

After that, the lunch meet up became an unofficial weekly ritual. Usually at Morning Star but they ventured to other places; Honey's, Floyd's, Blue Plate but they found themselves back at Morning Star week after week, talking about Monroe and Hank and what would be at the Rose Festival this year, who would be coming to the Blues Festival.

But today, being what she was, she felt something bubbling beneath the surface. "So, what's up? Juliette?"

Nick rolled his eyes. "Of course, it's about Juliette."

She smiled. "Go on," she waved her hand to commence his -let's see, now- fourth monologue about his worry for Juliette.

"She can't remember me. She can't remember that I was the cute cop who talked to her after the accident. She can't remember our first date or anything. She can't remember all the nightmares she's woken me up from. And what's more...what if she does remember and only remembers the terrible things? Like how I've been lying to her, keeping things from her." His face hardens. "How she said no...when I asked her to marry me."

No one ever said marriage had been on the table for them.

"I'm not going to lie." She started. "I don't know if what we did will make her the old Juliette. Its coming back, slowly. Or at least we think so. And at this point, she may never come all the way back. You're going to have to accept that."

"I know. And I tried-"

"You tried to live with a woman who was under a seriously psychologically damaging spell. And you tried to repair a relationship she didn't know she was in," Rosalee shook her head.

Nick leaned forward, rested his chin on his clasped hands. "But now that she's done with the Captain...Shouldn't-" He was grasping at sticks, straws, anything he could get a grip on.

It broke her heart to continually break his. "I don't know, Nick. What I do is guesswork. There are formulas that are proven to work but some of this...is best guess based on the situation and knowledge I have at the time. I hope that she recovers, I really do. But maybe you have to be ready for the possibility that she won't get better. And that she won't ever remember you...Or want to remember..."

Nick looked up at her. "If the roles were reverse, if Monroe forgot you, what would I tell you?"

"It's not the same. We aren't in the same place that you and Juliette were at when this happened."

He pointed one long finger at her. "That kiss at the bus station tells me otherwise." He accused. His detective was showing. Damnit. "Humor me." He insisted finally when she didn't say anything.

"Fine. We'll play your game..." Rosalee pursed her lips, thinking. "I...would want you to tell me that he'd find his way back. That he loves me and that's worth holding onto."

He grinned.

"Don't gloat. It's not cute." She informed him, picking her BLT back up again.

Later, as he dropped her back off at the shop. she turned to him and gripped his shoulder. "I'm not going to tell you that everything will be all right but...we're here for you. What ever you need."

Nick nodded, smiling. "Thanks Rosalee. It means a lot."

"Just one thing," she paused, hand on the door handle. "Keep an eye on him. Don't let him do anything stupid."

Nick nodded. "I won't. Promise."

Her own words echoed back to her suddenly as she sat there in the dark next to Monroe, his arm around her and his voice rumbling through his chest as he told her little bits of trivia. _I'd want you to tell me that he'd find his way back. That he loves me and that's worth holding on to._ It'd be hard to imagine that life though. Hard to imagine that alone-ness again, that empty place she'd have growing in her heart. She wouldn't have that warm fluttery feeling where Monroe looked at her and her alone. She wouldn't have that courage she'd built up, knowing he'd always have her back.

Rosalee curled in to him a little closer. "I had a bad dream last night."

He sat up a little to look her in the eye. "What was it about?"

"You," she murmured.

His brow furrowed. "Me?"

"You couldn't remember me. I was talking to you and you just didn't know who I was. You kept turning away. You wouldn't talk to me."

Monroe looked down at her, brow furrowed. "Rose, that's not going to happen."

"You can't promise that," She replied.

"No, I can't." He paused for a moment. "But trust me, I'd do whatever I could to remember. Why would you even dream I would forget you?"

She burrowed into his shoulder "I'm being silly. It's just something Nick said. You know, about Juliette and I just hope that nothing like that ever happens to us."

"Well, I haven't pissed off any Hexenbeasts lately." He grinned, kissing her forehead. "You?"

Rosalee shook her head. "The last one that got testy with me was murdered so..." She smiled at him. "I think I'm good."

* * *

_Yeah this one was definitely not going to be serious. I have an idea for another or possibly a few but nothing solid yet. It might be sad. I've had too many happy one shots, I feel the need for angst. _


	5. Regret

_Oh jeez look what I did! I've got a new one shot, which will be the first in a new arc: Regret, Blue, Small. I seriously did not plan to do this but ehhhh oh well. I hope you guys like it._

_I own nothing here guys. I'm just doing it for the feels. _

* * *

_Well, maybe I'm a crook for stealing your heart away/ Yeah, maybe I'm a crook for not caring for it…" Of Monsters and Men "Love Love Love"_

"_I hear you're asking all around/ If I am anywhere to be found/ But I have grown too strong/To ever fall back in your arms…" Christina Perri "Jar of Hearts"_

* * *

Part 5: Regret

The phone rings out in the dark so loud at first Rosalee thinks it's a gunshot. When she realizes what it actually is, she reaches out and nearly slaps her phone (and her pocket watch) off the bedside table before answering. "Nick, I swear to God if you're calling to ask how to stop a rampaging Lowen again, I will freakin' kill you. It's four am. Give up and go home. Let the SWAT team deal with it." She mutters, irritated and trying to keep quiet so she doesn't wake Monroe.

"It's not Nick," the voice, familiar but still unknown through the veil of sleep, informs her.

She turns, slightly more awake now. Monroe is there next to her just as he was when they went to bed five hours ago.

"Rosalee…it's Ian."

Adrenaline shoots through her, making her feel as though she drank three cups of coffee. She wriggles her way out of Monroe's arms as gently as she can. He sleeps on, unaware. She creeps out of bed and down the hall before replying: "Ian? What's wrong? Where are you? What's happening?" She's already trying to think of people that can help, friends of the family, forgotten relatives. She's reached the kitchen, turned on the light and is looking for that pad of paper and a pen they use for grocery lists.

"I just…missed you, Rosie. I needed to hear your voice." He lets out a deep breath, like air from a bellows. Pressure gone.

And Rosalee feels it as if he's standing next to her. She closes her eyes for a moment, leaning against one of the kitchen chairs. A wave of nausea washes over her. _Not again. _She grimaces.

"Rosie?"

"Why are you calling me? It's four in the morning! " She snaps before she can reel it in.

"I just-" Ian stops. "I'm in Ireland. In Kerry. You'd love it here."

"That's what you always said," she murmurs. "About Budapest, about Prague."

"And it's true." She hears the smile in his voice. "You'd love them."

"But it was always too dangerous. That's what you always said." _I'm sorry, Rosie. I miss you too. But it's too dangerous. I don't want you get mixed up in all this._

"It is."

"Why call? Especially after a year of radio silence?"

He doesn't say anything for a moment. And she hates that she can see him squeezing the bridge of his nose in frustration at himself because he hasn't realized that it's been a whole year. Or more. He was never very good with time. Even when they were in the same place. "Is it so bad to call old friends?"

"It is, when it's four in the morning on your old friend's end."

"Rosie-"

"Don't." She growls. "Don't call me that."

"When did it turn into this?" He asked. "Why did it? Everything used to be so easy."

"You left remember? You had to go save the world and I wasn't ready to follow you."

"Ready or willing?"

She puts her hand over her eyes. "Ian, let's be honest. You and I both know I was never going to follow you."

He pauses. "I thought you might. Eventually, I thought..."

"Once you saved the world, I would be here waiting for you?" Rosalee rests her hand on the backdoor. Suddenly, she feels as though she's radiating a million degrees and can't catch her breath.

"It's the Blutbad, isn't it?" He probes, judgment, and if she's not mistaken a little jealousy, permeating the transatlantic line.

"His name is Monroe." She clarifies, not liking his tone and the way he's refused to remember Monroe's name. "And no, it isn't because of him. It's me. I didn't follow because I didn't want to."

"I thought maybe…the last time I saw you …I don't know."

"That I'd hold out for you? That I'd wait? That I would keep putting my life on hold for you?"

Ian doesn't say anything.

Letting out a deep breath, Rosalee leans against the door. "He's a good man, Ian. He cares about me and he watches out for me. He's here. And…I love him-"

"-And you want to spend the rest of your life with him." He finishes. He was always good at that. "You're picking him."

She picked this life a long time ago, and cemented it the first time she kissed him. It's what she wants, what she needs now. A solid presence and a lovingly supportive hand.

"I have a family here, Ian." She retorted. "These people love me. Support me. And I love them. This is my place."

"Rosalee…God, I miss you." Ian says thickly. "I really do."

_I don't miss you,_ she thinks._ I don't miss waiting for a call that doesn't come on my birthday when you promised this time. This year. I don't miss worrying myself to sleep. I don't miss wondering when you'd call next or if you'd ever call again._

"I'm glad to hear you're doing all right," she whispers. "But I can't miss what's not in my life anymore."

"…I should let you go then." He says. "Get back to sleep."

"Goodbye Ian." She says quietly.

"Goodbye Rosie.." He clicks off before she can berate him about the name.

She turns the knob and steps outside. She's too wired to go back to sleep. And her brain is too full of electric thoughts for her to stay inside.

Settling herself on the top stair of the back porch, she tries to absorb the night sounds around her, to keep the tornado of memories from taking over. She curls in on herself, pulling her knees up to her chest. There is the quiet hum of the power lines and the random yips of neighborhood dogs. Sometimes a car passes through the streets. Mostly though, there are crickets and the gentle sway of familiar trees in the breeze. And quiet. So quiet she forgets for a while that they're in the middle of a city.

It still throws her for a loop when Ian randomly pops up, bringing her back to that time again. Before Portland, before Freddie's murder. She doesn't hate him, sure she said she did when she was still grieving and still broken up about it. But she doesn't. She hasn't for a long time. Ian's presence, real or imagined, doesn't have the same bittersweet taste that it used to. Like when she was eight and thought Baker's chocolate was the same as regular chocolate and stole a bar from the kitchen to share with Freddie. Needless to say, it took them quite a while to get over the taste. It was the same way with Ian.

It takes her a good five minutes to hear Monroe heading toward the door. But

she's calm now, forgetting Ian's voice minute by minute.

"Rose? What are you doing?" Monroe's by the backdoor, poking his head out.

"Getting some air. Got a phone call." She holds it up in proof without looking back.

"Who from at this un godly hour?" He asks. "Was it Nick? Seriously, man. He really doesn't understand when it is and isn't appropriate time to call."

"It was Ian."

Instantly all the friendly irritation is gone from his voice. "Is he okay?"

She nods. "He's in Ireland. He wanted to say he missed me."

Monroe comes out and sits beside her, not saying anything more.

"He wanted to talk about old times and wanted to know if I would wait for him. For his whole world saving thing to be done."

"What did you say?" Monroe's tone is even, though she can tell he doesn't really want to bring Ian up. Or talk about her leaving. _Rose? You're not going anywhere, are you? _ She remembers him asking her once.

"I told him I couldn't miss what wasn't in my life anymore. I told him that I have a life here and that I wasn't going to follow him. " She shakes her head. "Not now or ever." _No. I'm not going anywhere _ she remembers murmuring to him late one night.

"Do you regret it? Not following?"

"He lives on the run constantly. He's always looking over his shoulder. It's no way to live. At least for me. " She turns to face him finally, noting the relief on his face. "I have no regrets about my past. They led me to good things, to you." She winds her arm through the crook of his elbow and scoots closer. " To the life I want." She leans her chin against his shoulder, savoring the quiet.

"Sun'll be up soon." He observes and covers her hand with his.

"Do you want to go back to bed? "

"No, we should stay up. Watch the sun rise. It'd be a good way to start off the day."

"I'd like that."

"Something you said earlier…'It brought me the life I want.' Meaning this? Me and you? The quiet life?"

"Well as quiet as having a Grimm in our life will allow. But yeah. The quiet life. A home."

"I will the sound of that."

"Home?"

"No…well, yes. But 'our life.' "

She leans in and whispers the secret she's barely kept under the wraps for a week, smiling the whole time.

* * *

_A/N: I just want to say that I don't think Ian is a jerk or possessive or evil. I think when you have a connection with someone and one person leaves, that connection doesn't just dissolve. It hangs around and if you're not careful you can get sucked back into a relationship with them which may not be the healthiest thing. I think it's pretty clear from the episode with Ian, that she still cares for his well being but what ever romantic feeling she had for him are long gone. Long before she came to Portland. _

_I also think he is an interesting character I do believe he's going to pop up again in the series which will make for an interesting storyline for Rosalee. _

_Anyway that's my two cents, stick around for the next two!_

_oh and R&R please!_


	6. Blue

And here's the next installment. Funny, I should have mentioned something in the other one: It's set like a year after this current season. Like I'm imagining that Juliette knows everything and Nick is back living with her. And of course since he's gotten used to people in his house, Rosalee moved in with Monroe and that's where Regret starts up.

Again, I'm making no money off this. Enjoy!

* * *

"_It's as simple as it should be/ Simple as it should be/ And this love will build/Through flights and streets/ In the end I predict/ You'll get the very best of me/ So put your lips to my lips/ Why not go on and take all of it…" Tristan Prettyman "Simple as it Should be"_

"_I do not love you for the way my heart/ Seems to live somewhere inside your chest/ And I do not love you for the way your arms/ They can hold me until I forget/And I do not love you for the way you've been/ Exactly what I'm looking for/ I love you for all of this and so much more…" Ron Pope "I Do Not Love You"_

* * *

Rain raps against the windows, light but insistent. Of course, it rains the day they pick. It isn't surprising; it's Portland after all. But Rosalee doesn't mind; it's auspicious on a day like today. Not that she believes in such things but any extra good luck for a lifetime of happiness shouldn't be sneered at. _Love will only carry you so far, Kit. _Her mother told her on the phone the other day, sorry that she couldn't make it to Portland in time but promised to visit soon. _Sometimes you need a little luck too. _And they'll need it, Rosalee knows. None of this is according to the plan.

She picks up a picture frame the dresser, smiling at the memory. This past Christmas they held an Orphan's Dinner where Monroe and Juliette did all the cooking and everyone else supplied the support. But this is after dinner and they're settled in one his armchairs. She's sitting in his lap, arm around his neck and smiling, albeit a bit drunkenly. Monroe made the eggnog extra strong last year. Hank for some unknown reason decided to be the unofficial photographer and snapped a picture. When he showed it off later, Rosalee demanded that he send it to her.

"I love that picture," He murmurs from behind, arms settling around her waist.

"I look a little wasted." She laughs and leans back against him. "We need to update it. We could do it today." She twists around in his arms to face him.

He turns to her, asking her again, as he has every day leading up to today; "Are you sure this is how you want to do this?" His hair is mussed in just the way she finds adorable and wants very badly to run her fingers through it.

"Are you getting cold feet?" But Rosalee asks with a smile. She takes her watch from her pocket to check the time again. Juliette booked them a half-day at the spa as a quasi-Bachelorette party. The usual events were not so feasible in this short amount of time, among other reasons.

"No, of course not, I just don't want you to think that we have to hurry this so I don't run out or something."

She plays with his shirt collar for a minute. "We don't have to, you know. Say the word and we can come back to it later. After."

He runs his thumb over her lower back. "I just don't want you to think that it's necessary. I love you and I'm not going anywhere."

She smiles. "I love you too. And that's why. You'd think I'd know you pretty well after almost three years together that I'd know you wouldn't run out on me. Especially since this was your idea."

"One of my better ones," he retorts as she pulls away before he can stop her. She darts to the bathroom to grab her make up bag and her dress from the closet. "Will you stop bouncing though?!"

"I am not bouncing!" She calls back. "I'm excited!"

"Someone in-"

She holds up a finger. "Don't finish that sentence. I know perfectly well what I can and can't do."

"Be less bouncy, please for me?" He pleads. "Just a little."

The Subaru honks in the driveway.

"Oh good, there's Juliette," She grabs her dress and bag. "I'll see you later!" She calls as she heads out the door.

The rain doesn't let up as the afternoon rolls on. Monroe and Nick wait for Hank at the curb under the courthouse Sky Bridge and eaves (or at least they told themselves, really it was more room for Monroe to pace). Juliette and Rosalee are already inside getting ready.

"So…. are you terrified yet?" Nick asks.

Monroe just looks over at him. "What do you think?"

"It's gonna be fine." Nick slaps his back affectionately. "You and Rosalee are perfect for each other. We all knew it was just a matter of time. Though we were kinda surprised you just sort decided to do it now." Nick smiles in his usual confident way. "There's something else though…wait. Is one of you dying or something?" And then it dawns on him. "How far along is she?"

"You do realize how freakin' creepy it is when you do that, right?" Monroe retorts.

"So….How far?"

"Three months. Act surprised when we go to dinner, that's when we're gonna tell everyone."

Nick's manic smile doesn't fade. "You're gonna have a kid? You and Rosalee?"

"People do it all the time." Monroe shrugs, hoping his feigned indifference will mask the anxiety that's been building up since Rosalee whispered it to him while they watched the sun come up three weeks ago.

"And you're terrified."

He looks up at his friend. "Oh, dude. You have no idea. Ecstatic but terrified."

Nick frowns finally. "Why?"

"Really?! That's what you're going to ask me? How many human-let's not even talk Wesen at this point- children have you successfully reared and sent out into the world?! Let alone planned?!"

Nick shrugs it off. Easy for him. "Nobody cares about that anymore. Besides you two are going to be great parents."

"Do you want to talk about Wesen kids then?" Monroe replies. "Don't you remember that crazy Drag-zorn girl? Or even the half Lowen one?"

"Monroe." Nick places his hand on his shoulder. "Do you love Rosalee?"

"Of course I do."

"And you love this kid who probably looks more like an alien at this point, right?"

"Again, of course."

"Then you're gonna be fine. Everything will work itself out."

"Again, how could you possibly know that?"

"Look, at least you're both going to be there to watch your kid grow up. You know? Take them to their first day of school and teach them how to ride a bike." Nick pauses, waving at Hank. "You could miss everything." He says in a less jovial tone as Hank joins them. It's time.

All of his worries melt away, though, when she walks in. Not in white, but blue, a shade like heavy thunderhead. She smiles effortlessly, without an ounce of doubt or nervousness as if this is an occurrence she encounters everyday. She reaches out for his hand but not because she needs to but because she wants to. The moment her fingers intertwine with his, the rest of the room vanishes.

The ceremony itself is short and succinct with only four witnesses. No muss, no fuss, just like they wanted. They repeat the words given to them by the Justice without deviation and slide the rings on with a note of finality. When the Justice declares that it's time for that first kiss, Monroe is already a step ahead. He winds his hand up to her cheek and pulls her in amid the cheers and applause that four people can make.

They go to a Nel Centro where Hank buys the biggest bottle of champagne that's offered. But no one everyone notices Rosalee doesn't take the offered glass, everyone is too focused on Nick as he makes his big speech. He goes on about how compatible they are, how nauseatingly adorable and above all his two good friends and wishes them nothing but happiness.

On that note, Rosalee blurts out their news, unable to keep it in check any longer. There is another round of champagne and then a few other harder drinks that Rosalee looks at longingly.

Later, they collapse into bed, fully clothed, too tired to do anything else but look at each other and smile. But Rose can barely keep her eyes open past ten o'clock these days.

"So," he grabs her hand. "Good day?"

"Best day. So far at least." She agrees. Her phone pings and she digs it out of her pocket. A picture message from Nick.

She holds it up for him to see. It's them; they're turned toward one another, smiling, their left hands are on the table and the rings apparent. "I know exactly where to put this."

"Where?" He pulls her into the circle of his arms, needing to know this isn't a dream. That she's here and the ring on her finger matches the one on his. She relocates his hand to the small, unexpected bump hidden beneath the folds of her dress. No kicks yet, sadly.

"In the baby's room."

* * *

A/N: there is a specific reason why I had Rosalee's mom call her Kit and you'll see why soon.

R&R!


	7. Small

_Aw man...I broke my own heart with this one. I was writing in public and it was really hard not to just left out a few tears._

_ I'm sorry in advance for all the feels. Don't hate me, please._

_This, sadly, was always part of the plan. I knew I wanted to do a one-shot like this but I just didn't know where it was going to go. And well, here we are. _

_I don't pretend to know exactly what people in this situation go through and so this is done with a bit of research and a lot of imagination. If you're easily upset or triggered by the idea of miscarriages, please just skip this one and wait for the last one which will be WAYYYY happier. I would rather not offend or upset anyone. _

_I also wanted to do this because I wanted to show that not everything is rainbows and sunshine and happily ever afters. And just because people in love doesn't mean they're immune to it. I'm going to get off my soapbox now and let you read._

_Remember, I own nothing at all here. _

* * *

_"And as the world comes to an ends/ I'll be here to hold your hand…"-Of Monsters and Men "King and the Lionheart"_

"_You can wrap your fingers round my thumb and hold me tight./And you'll be alright./ Oh, you're just a small bump unknown, you'll grow into your skin./With a smile like hers and a dimple beneath your chin…"-Ed Sheeran, "Small Bump"_

* * *

The doctor's gone but Monroe can't bring himself to actually walk through the doorway. He stands there and thinks to himself that he's never seen Rose look as small and frail as she does now; ashen and exhausted and curled up on the hospital bed, one arm draped protectively over her middle. But there's nothing there. Not anymore.

Nick had called, frantic, what felt like years ago. He took Rose out to lunch, when she suddenly started complaining of cramps, gone white and fainted. The EMTs let Nick ride along and keep her company when she came back around. As they sat in the waiting room together, Nick told him that he held Rose's hand and told her to keep breathing and that everything would be fine. Monroe could only smile at his friend in thanks, the words lost completely. "You'd do the same for me," was all Nick said before he went to find coffee.

The doctor told him the news in the hall, delicately out of her earshot. But they've got her so doped up on painkillers and sedatives, she'd never remember even if she could hear them. It'll take weeks for her to feel normal again. That is, if she ever will. _These things happen_, the doctor told him. _There's no reason she can't carry to term_. _In a few weeks, she'll be back to normal. _The doctor handed him a small card with the name and number of a counselor. _You may want to encourage her to talk to someone though._ And went on his way.

_These things happen_ isn't reason enough. Not for Rose. She'll blame herself for all the things she'd done in the past. Even in the present. She'll say that she hasn't been taking it easy enough, that she handled the wrong thing in the shop.

He doesn't know what to say or do. If he'd be able to get the words out of if they'd get lost in the same place as the ones to Nick. Nothing he can think of seems to be enough.

They'd been so excited, maybe not exactly ready, but what first time parents are totally ready? They'd nearly finished the room, the majority of the necessities purchased or sent to them in huge boxes from their respective families. They'd spent entire days sitting on the floor, re-living and telling embarrassing childhood stories and playfully arguing about names. Just like Rose wanted, the photo had been framed and was hanging on the far wall already. And now he wonders if he should take it all down, pack it up and hide it before she comes home. To save her from having to be reminded. Not that it'll ever go away.

He finally walks into the dimly lit room, not liking the smell of bleach and chemicals and death and how close they are to Rose, how they surround her. But she doesn't even smell like herself. The smell of vanilla, lemon verbena and wool is lost among the thousands of other patients before her.

She already seems to know, there's a frown etched on her lovely face, so opposite to how she normally looks when she's asleep; she's one of those people who smiles. Face serene and relaxed. But here, her hands are curled into fists and she's curled in so tight, she'll complain about her back hurting for weeks to come. She doesn't know where she is, or he is for that matter. The last thing she probably saw was a group of unfamiliar faces, half covered by masks, the last hand that held hers was Nick's.

He brushes her forehead with the back of his hand, tucking a few loose strands of hair from her face. The first familiar thing about today since he woke up with her this morning. And now all he wants is to go back. Back to her warm body pressed against his chest, back to her turning around to smile sleepily at him. Back to before her right hand was stuck with IVs and attached to too many tubes and bags to count. Maybe if they restart the day, things will be different.

Her breathing evens out as he pulls up the chair. He glances over at the bedside table to see her pocket watch sitting there, ticking the seconds away silently. It makes him smile, despite how everything else is seemingly falling apart, that she never goes anywhere without it.

Her left hand relaxes enough for him to slip his fingers through hers. Instinctively, she grasps back and doesn't let go. Her face slips more into the serene one he's used to looking at every morning.

"Rose?" he calls, squeezing her hand a little. "Rose?"

"…ten minutes…" she mumbles, exactly what she mumbled this morning. "Ten minutes, then…." She lets out a little sigh. "Coffee."

He laughs a little despite where they are at the moment; the lump in his throat grows with every passing second.

Her eyes flicker open and it takes her a minute of blinking to adjust to the light. Rose frowns, glancing around until she sees her own hand tied down with tubes needles. Her eyes go huge in shock, like she can't even recognize what it is. "What…?" She swallows hard and closes her eyes in remembering. "Oh God…" When she opens her eyes again, there are tears hovering on her eyelashes; a silent question.

Again, the words are not there. He can only shake his head in response.

Rose is quiet for a moment before pulling her free (but IV'd) hand across her eyes.

"It's not anyone's fault," he's barely able to get out. "It's not yours."

She doesn't respond. But it's easy to see her heart breaking as she shakes her head back and forth in denial, of either what he said or the fact that today even happened. Her shoulders shake with tears but no sound escapes her.

It's easy to see her heart breaking. And his. His too. He covers his face with his free hand for a moment, not caring anymore. Maybe it's not just her who feels so small.

And then he feels her abnormally cool hand on his cheek and looks up. Her eyes are rimmed in red, but they're still the same honey brown, a small smile plays at the corner of her mouth, but it quivers. She pulls him next to her so they're pressed forehead to forehead in their grief. He takes both her cool hands in his. He can't fix this. He can't put this back together again but he can keep her warm.

They're quiet for a moment until: "Monroe…?" She asks in a tinny voice, almost as if she's forgotten he's there. Who he is.

He runs his thumb over her fingers. "What is it?"

"I wanna go home." She murmurs. "Don't…wanna stay here."

"I do too."

* * *

This is not the end, dudebros, I promise. I've got one last one-shot with these two.

R&R plz!


	8. The Clockmaker's Daughter

And here's the last one-shot in this series. Please see the note at the end!

-and the lines are time jumps. small ones. But ya'll are smart cookies, you can figure it out.

Disclaimer: I own nothing dudes.

* * *

"_And you can tell everybody this is your song/ It may be quite simple, but now that it's done/ I hope you don't mind, I hope you don't mind that I put down in words/ How wonderful life is while you're in the world…" Elton John, "Your Song"_

"_Rain turns the sand into mud/ Wind turns the trees into bone/ Stars turning high up above/ You turn me into somebody loved…" The Weepies, "Somebody Loved"_

* * *

"Will you stop hovering?" She hollers from the kitchen, putting the last of the dishes away. Not that she can see him from here, but she feels his agitation and his restlessness. Throwing her damp hair into a bun, she walks out to the living room where he replaces the gauzy curtain but checks his watch.

"They promised seven on the dot."

"It's seven oh five." She runs her hand down his arm. "Maybe there was traffic."

"I don't know…"

She slips one arm around his waist and plants a lingering kiss just under his ear. "Are you telling me that you didn't enjoy the whole six hours we just had to ourselves? Completely uninterrupted? Because I certainly did."

"Oh no…_that_ I thoughly enjoyed." He loops his finger around one of her belt loops and pulls her closer. "I just-"

"Worry?" She supplies. "Don't you trust Nick?"

"That's not what I'm questioning at all...I don't see how you're so callus about all this."

"Monroe, she's in good hands. Please stop; you're killing my buzz."

He sighs. "Sorry, I just-"

She kisses him square in the middle of his sentence, cutting him off. "I love you, you know." She whispers when she drops back down to her heels. "Even when you're a worrywart."

He smiles back. "I love you."

And then the jeep pulls up to the house. "Told you." She murmurs as she hears the skittering sneakers heading up the sidewalk and the small fingers scrabbling at the doorknob until a much larger one turns it for her.

"Mama! Papa!" Alva cries out as she runs into the house, her long dark hair streaming behind her, knotted from natural curls and the day's activities and a stuffed polar bear with a blue ribbon around its neck under her arm. Nick and Juliette file in after her.

"Hi, Kit!" Rosalee scoops her daughter up and settles her as best she can on her hip, all the while checking to be sure she still has all her fingers. Just the way they did when Alva was born. "Did you have fun with Uncle Nicky and Aunt Jules?"

"Yes!" She crows, her dark brown eyes huge in her tiny apple-cheeked face. "We saw the polar bears! Look what Uncle Nicky got me!" Alva holds up the bear to show it off.

Nick smiles. "We spent forty five minutes reading all about the polar bears, didn't we Kit?"

She nods. "And the penguins. Penguins are Uncle Nicky's favorites!"

"And what about Aunty Jules?" Rosalee probes.

"She… um likes the tam-tamerlin." She lets out a precarious yawn and clutches the bear tighter.

"Uh oh," Rosalee smiles. "Looks like Uncle Nicky did a better job than we thought."

Alva doesn't respond. She lays her head down on Rosalee's neck and lets out a little sigh.

"So, she was good then?" Monroe wonders.

"She's always good," Juliette insists, running her fingers down the girl's back. "She's our favorite girl." Alva reaches out to grab at Juliette's fingers. Juliette grins. "Well," she pats her just barely rounding middle. "At least for the next seven months."

"And then we get to return the favor," Rosalee promises.

"We should go," Nick announces, throwing his arm around Juliette. "Let you get Kit to bed. She fell asleep a few times in the car."

"Say goodbye to Uncle Nick and Aunty Jules," Monroe tells her.

Alva waves, but she doesn't lift her head. "Thank you for my bear. And the zoo..."

"Anytime, Kit," Nick tells her as they disappear through the door. "Anytime."

* * *

Alva holds her favorite book as well as the bear when she comes back down to the living room,_ Where the Wild Things Are_. "Please?"

"Come on," Rosalee makes room on the couch and the girl clambers up.

Alva rests against Rosalee's chest, curling her long legs into the fetal position, clutching the polar bear under one arm. She feels the girl's breath against her neck and tiny heart beat against through her once again. That was Rosalee's favorite thing before Alva was born- getting to listen to the baby's little heartbeat through the monitor. It was the most beautiful song Rosalee'd ever heard. Especially after the early heartbreaks and disappointments.

Despite being born eight weeks early and deemed one of the tiniest babies delivered at Emmanuel Hospital, Alva had long since grown out of toddler proportions. But the first moment Nick saw her so small in that incubator, the spoiling started. And this polar bear would not be the end. The first time they allowed him to hold her, Rosalee had to pry her own daughter out of his arms. It was nice, though, to have such a devoted babysitter ready and all too willing to take Alva for an afternoon.

"What are you going call your new bear?" Rosalee asks her daughter.

Alva leans her warm face on Rosalee's collarbone. "Um...what was the name Papa wanted to call me before I was born?"

Rosalee laughs. "Monroe?" She calls.

He pops his head out of the kitchen. "What is it?"

"What did you want to name Alva again?"

"Saskia...it was my great great grandmother's name." He drifts into the living room and sits on the opposite end of the couch.

Alva nods solemnly, holding up the bear. "Her name is Saskia." She turns to the book and then holds it out to him. "Please? You do the voices better than Mama."

"Just one?" He takes the books from her.

"Just one," she promises. Alva crawls over to him, ducks under his arm to see the pictures, just how she likes. Her tiny finger traces the words as he reads them, mouthing the words that she knows most likely by memory. Right about the time that Max orders the wild rumpus, Alva nods off completely.

"Monroe..." Rosalee nudges him with her foot.

Glancing down, he smiles. He hands over the book, and then gently scoops her up, polar bear and all, to take her up to bed. Rosalee stands to kiss her daughter and whisper good night, _I'll eat you up I love you so._

She watches him carry their daughter up the stairs, standing in the center of living room. And it hits her suddenly. Because of those lost years in Portland, Seattle was her self-imposed solitary confinement, her penance. Ten years ago, she had no idea that he existed, that he was there. Or in her wildest imagining that this life was going to happen for her. That she'd be married or a mother. Let alone be happy.

He returns, Alva-free. "If we're lucky, she'll sleep until at least eight."

Rosalee smiles, lazily draping her arms around his neck. "That would be a sign of the apocalypse."

"You look exhausted," he observes.

"I am," she grins. "You wore me out."

"Correct me if I'm wrong but this whole Nick and Juliette taking Alva to the zoo was your idea."

"I never said it wasn't."  
"You're devious," He grins back.

"We've been together for nearly eight years and you're just now figuring that out?" she laughs.

Monroe checks his watch and counts back on his fingers. "You know next week is the anniversary of our first date."

"Sometimes, I wonder how I got so lucky." She shakes her head. "It's weird."

He pulls her in. "What is?"

"Eight years ago, I was sitting on that couch telling you about all the things I did and after all that...you asked me to stay."

"I still would." He cups his hand around her cheek.

* * *

When she wakes, Rosalee realizes that it isn't Alva who does it this morning. But today she's alone. Which is not uncommon. Monroe's an early riser, always has been. She checks her pocket watch on her beside table, 7:09 AM. Often when Alva was younger, he'd take the early morning cries and she'd wake to find him walking through the house with her over one shoulder. That or crashed out on the couch with Alva on his chest.

Rosalee tiptoes out of bed, surprised by the quiet in the house. She pads down to the study to find Monroe with Alva on his knee showing her all the tiny inter workings of the clock he is restoring. She watches from the doorway as father and daughter work piece by piece, him naming each one and Alva trying to repeat correctly.

Rosalee turns to head to the kitchen, the smell of the coffee he's already started for her leading the way. They're still unsure as to which she'll take after; the Fuchsbau or the Blutbad. They look for signs all the time to point one way or the other. There is so much of the both of them in Alva; she has Rosalee's cheekbones, her full lips, her steady assurance of self and charm. She has Monroe's dark hair and curls, his tenacity and fascination with all things that require hours of concentration. Alva is the Apothecary's Daughter but also the Watchmaker's daughter. And she will find her own way, Rosalee is sure.

* * *

A/N:

So my friends, we've come to the end of this particular adventure. It has been a serious blast and I'm so glad you all stuck around to read my ramblings! Really, all of you are wonderful and I'm so glad that you took the time to read and enjoy.

About this fic, the version of "Your Song" that I've been listening to is Ellie Goulding (not that I don't love Elton John).

Right now, school is really killing me. (not in a bad way, i just have less than four weeks of classes left and the pressure is on, being a full time grad student means I don't have a lot of time to goof around with). However, summer is coming up and I'll have some more free time and I may just wander back to the Grimm fandom to write more. Maybe even Nick/Juliette.

Anywho, enjoy, loves!

T.R.P.D.


End file.
